


fly

by starblessed



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 01:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: The only thing Dmitry knows how to do is run.





	fly

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: dimya + “Stop running from this. I know I’m not the only one who feels it.”
> 
> Originally posted on my [tumblr](http://abroholoselephanta.tumblr.com/), where I am taking prompts!

The moment he turns his back on her, she feels anger flare up in her chest — so powerful that it sears her from the inside out.

Anya is used to being consumed by her temper, but this is something more. This is raw, desperate, a _need_ that transcends simple fury or frustration. It is the realization that if he steps out that door, she will lose yet another integral part of her life, just as she’s trying so hard to rebuild it. It is terror, sharp and deep, the kind that she has no chance of fighting. It is refusal to let anyone else slip away from her.

“Dmitry,” she says. He doesn’t look back. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, and all his stubbornness won’t allow him to listen to her.

Not unless she makes him.

She grabs his arm, and he jerks to a stop. His head tilts, but he doesn’t turn. Anya grips him tightly, feeling her dull nails dig into his flesh, and distantly wonders if she’s hurting him. If she is, he’s not letting on.

“Look at me,” she says. When he makes no move to do so, she tugs him closer. “Look.”

Finally, he turns. His brows are furrowed, eyes downcast, but as soon as he faces her they are closer than either of them realized. Anya can feel his heat against hers. She can see the quiver of his throat, feel the ghost of his breath.

One hand comes up to cup his cheek. Once again, he doesn’t pull away.

“Stop running from this,” she whispers, pulling his face down to meet hers. “I know I’m not the only one who feels it.”

The second Dmitry’s eyes catch hers, they lock; he couldn’t look away if he wanted to. Slowly, he drifts up, falling into Anya’s rhythm and allowing her to guide him.

“I’m pretty good at running,” he mutters. “I’ve done it all my life.”

“You don’t have to. Not anymore. Her other hand comes up to cup the back of his head. What she wants, more than anything, is to never have to let go; to hold him, to let him know that he’s safe and secure, that he’s hers. That as long as they’re together, he’s finally found a place he belongs. They _both_ have.

She can’t say any of this to him. Perhaps she doesn’t need to; the way Dmitry’s eyes shine implies that he knows already. He knows it all, and isn’t sure how to face it. His only instinct is to try and flee.

“Don’t run,” she whispers against his lips. “Stay with me.”

When she leans in, she is terrified that her mouth will be met with nothing but air — that in the space between breaths, he will have vanished from her arms. Instead, soft lips meet hers, and immediately push back with a force that leaves her spinning.

 _Yes,_ she thinks, as Dmitry grips her tightly. _Yes. This is the way it should be._

He isn’t leaving her. Dmitry isn’t going anywhere; he’s staying right here.

For the longest time, she didn’t have a home. She didn’t even know who she was, or if she’d ever belonged anywhere at all. Dmitry was the first person who ever made her feel like she could be more than her past. She’s found the home she spent so long searching for, in brown eyes and a dimples grin, in floppy hair and a devil-may-care laugh. She’s found it in him.

And, god help her, she can _never_ run from that.


End file.
